


And So This is Christmas

by kronette



Category: Gilmore Girls, Stargate Atlantis, Supernatural, The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-08
Updated: 2016-12-08
Packaged: 2018-09-07 06:24:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8787037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kronette/pseuds/kronette
Summary: A collection of four stories, all written to celebrate John Lennon's life. I used to write something every year and post on December 8, but I've been lax. I picked it up again last year (or the year before...), but this year I was a bit more inspired.





	1. Supernatural

Dean had seen it in the window of a pawn shop in Marion, Louisiana, and walked out with his hand wrapped around the neck and a huge grin on his face. It had ridden in the backseat all the way back to the bunker, and that was last Sam had seen of it.

But he'd _heard_ it, as Dean slowly relearned the fingering and chords and rhythm. It took Sam back to their childhood, when Dad was away for a few days and they would sneak into the music room at whatever school they were attending. Dean always went straight for the six string, while Sam tried wind instruments, the xylophone and the drums. It was the one time Sam didn't see the hard crease of worry on Dean's forehead. 

That crease had only deepened with the passing years; this year in particular had been especially hard. Getting mom back had been a miracle, but it was taking its toll on all of them, but Dean the hardest. He had memories of their mom; Sam only had Dean's stories. Sam didn't know which of them had it worse.

Rubbing his scratchy, tired eyes, Sam closed his laptop and turned off the lights on his way to the sleeping areas. As he entered the hallway, he broke into a huge smile and eased his steps so he wouldn't alert Dean. The confident strumming and soft voice carried down the hall into Sam's room, sending him back to age 14 and trying to impress Lily Carmichael with his terrible drum accompaniment to Dean’s playing. 

"You know it's gonna be...alright. Well you know it's gonna be...alright. Don't you know it's gonna be…alright…"


	2. Gilmore Girls

“Honestly, Lorelai, could you turn down that racket for _just_ a minute?” Emily Gilmore sighed with the endless frustration of dealing with her daughter and her strange friends. When she’d agreed to come to the Christmas party—purely on Rory’s pleading request—she’d expected chaos. What she didn’t expect was the menagerie of noise drowning out any attempt at conversation, not that it seemed to be stopping any of the local townsfolk. 

“No can do, mom,” Lorelai shouted as she held a tray over her head to get past the throngs of people. “It’s a party.” 

Emily looked to her husband and despaired at his half-smile. He was _enjoying_ this. “Richard, don’t tell me you condone this sort of…thing,” she huffed, already knowing she had lost the battle, but determined to save face. 

She relaxed into Richard as his arm draped over her shoulder. “Emily, my darling, this _thing_ is a party, thrown by our daughter and granddaughter, celebrating not just the season, but life itself. Would you deny that outpouring of joy to anyone?” 

She hated it when Richard got sentimental; she had no defense against it. “Of course not,” she snapped, more out of habit than any ill will. Once more, her gaze swept over the crowd. Some were singing along with Rory’s musician friends out on the porch, which competed with the music blaring from somewhere in the living room, and over it all, was laughter. 

She caught a glimpse of Lorelai kissing that Luke character under one of the many fake sprigs of mistletoe that adorned every doorway and ceiling fixture, before she finally spied her granddaughter in the throng. “Rory!” she called, waving her hand to get Rory’s attention. Their eyes locked and Rory waved back, then began the arduous task of winding through the crowd.

“Grandma! Grandpa! You made it!” Being a senior at Yale hadn’t tempered Rory a bit; she made everything sound exciting and important, and Emily hugged her granddaughter through the enthusiastic babbling. 

Richard was equally assaulted, though his smile appeared to be permanently affixed. “We wouldn’t miss your last Christmas at home before you start your world travels.”

Rory laughed. “Oh, grandpa, I’m coming back—Oh!” Emily startled as Rory grabbed her hand and started jumping up and down. “Oh! You _have_ to sing along.” 

It took Emily’s full concentration to determine that a new song had begun on the stereo, and a slow wave of people from nearest the speakers were picking up the lyrics. Another few lines and just about everyone was singing, but Emily wasn’t familiar with the tune at all. It certainly wasn’t a classical Christmas melody.

All around her, people had their arms thrown around each other’s shoulders, swaying in time to the beat, smiling and singing loudly off-key in most instances. But Lorelai had embraced Rory from behind and the two of them were hugging and singing, too. Even Luke, who was thankfully _not_ singing, was smiling as he stared at her girls.

It seemed an inane, repeating lyric, but Rory looked so happy, and Lorelai so content. Then Richard turned her and kissed her gently, and Emily could no longer resist. She smiled up at her husband and joined in, “All you need is love, love. Love is all you need…”


	3. The Man from UNCLE

“Hopefully, THRUSH are as snowed in as we are,” Illya quipped as he settled back on the bed with the local newspaper. 

Napoleon made a sound of agreement. “The roads were definitely treacherous enough to strand us here.” Here being Bridgeport, Connecticut, where at least four inches of snow had fallen in their two hours in the hotel. 

“Relax, Napoleon,” Illya chastised him lightly. “If we cannot get out, neither can our nefarious counterparts.” 

Napoleon made a face as he removed his suit jacket and draped it over the back of the desk chair. His shoes were already off and drying by the door, alongside Illya’s. While an UNCLE agent never goes out unprepared, their pursuit of a THRUSH van carrying a rather vital piece of a new satellite up I-95 landed them unexpectedly in the middle of a snowstorm. “I would hope we were more civilized than our ‘nefarious counterparts’,” he remarked dryly. 

“Oh, unquestioningly,” Illya agreed with an air of playful sarcasm. “After all, I am reading the local news.” 

He indicated the box in the corner. “We could _watch_ the local news,” Napoleon countered, smiling brightly at Illya’s scowl. 

“Do not be so common, Napoleon.” 

Playful banter fell silent and Napoleon checked his watch. 12:25 am on December 25, 1972. With a rare exasperated sigh, he eased himself down onto the other bed. “It’s officially Christmas Day,” he remarked, feeling uncharacteristically sour-tempered. “I’ve missed Aunt Amy’s Christmas dinner.” 

“I have missed it, too,” Illya reminded him quietly. Napoleon’s Aunt Amy had gone to great lengths to make sure Napoleon’s partner was invited to the major family holidays, even if he didn’t celebrate them. She insisted it was to make the ‘poor boy feel more at home’, though Napoleon suspected it was his partner’s unending appetite and praise of good food that kept the invitations rolling in holiday after holiday. 

Not wanting to let their derailed plans continue to spoil his mood, Napoleon snapped on the radio and turned it to a channel playing Christmas music. “At least we can get in the spirit,” he said under his breath, not really expecting Illya to hear him. 

At hearing a soft ‘thump’ next to him, Napoleon turned to see a small, wrapped box. “What’s this?”

Illya lowered the paper enough to glare at him, but his harsh words were tempered with underlying mirth. “You have been an U.N.C.L.E. agent for over fifteen years. You should know to prepare for the worst.”

He was about to make a smart retort, when he realized Illya was right. Things rarely went according to plan, and the hour and a half car chase was nothing out of the ordinary for them. “You are right, my friend. Your present is under my tree back home.” 

Illya went back to reading his paper. “And the remarkable thing is, it will still be there when we return in a few days. Perhaps a week at the latest.” 

He shook his head, a rueful smile curving his lips. He was fairly certain Illya had already inspected his wrapped gift and knew it was a silver watch, but as his friend and partner for over ten years, Illya would act surprised and delighted upon opening it. It was just like him. 

At seeing Illya’s arms start to lower the paper and his frown of concentration, Napoleon went to the window and carefully pulled the curtain aside. He signaled to Illya, asking _where_ , but Illya slowly shook his head.

“Not THRUSH. Listen.” 

At first, Napoleon didn’t understand, but then the music from the radio ramped up and a chorus of people sang, “A very merry Christmas and a happy new year. Let’s hope it’s a good one without any fear,” leading into a melody of “War is over, if you want it,” intermingled with the lyrics. 

As it faded into “The Christmas Song,” Napoleon whispered, “Merry Christmas, Illya.” 

Illya was quiet for another moment, then murmured in Russian, “May the world know peace soon.” He seemed to give himself a shake, then smiled. “Happy New Year, Napoleon.”


	4. Stargate: Atlantis

Since the _Daedalus_ had been relegated to round trips between galaxies, the Atlantis supply situation was no longer dire. Anything they wanted, they merely had to fill out a request form in triplicate, signed by Elizabeth and approved by General O’Neill. 

Rodney had taken full advantage and ordered in crates of coffee and power bars, and four pages of measurement and analysis equipment, including a minimum of ten laptops with the most powerful processors and largest hard drives available. If his pitiful team was to actually make any scientific progress in the Pegasus galaxy, they needed the best equipment, and it was his job to provide it. 

It baffled him that other people—namely Colonel Sheppard—would wade through the paperwork to have frivolous items shipped over. Honestly, a guitar? A _Martin Johnny Cash_ acoustic guitar, as John had none-too-gently corrected him when he’d scoffed at its arrival? As if differentiating the musical instruments would wake an interest in him. If Rodney wanted music, he had gigabytes on his laptop; he didn’t need to produce the sounds himself. 

Though he had to admit, it did sound nice in the mess hall. The acoustics of the room were nearly perfectly balanced; Rodney had a fleeting thought to run some tests to find out if this had been a meeting or music room. That thought faded as the chords beneath John’s hands changed and a few people began to softly accompany John’s hesitant singing. 

“Images of broken light, which dance before me like a million eyes. They call me on and on across the universe. Thoughts meander like a restless wind inside a letter box. They tumble blindly as they make their way across the universe. Jai Guru Deva. Om. Nothing's gonna change my world. Nothing's gonna change my world…”

Rodney slipped out onto the balcony, staring out over the moonlit ocean as the chorus continued in the background. It really was amazing, being in another galaxy. Seeing what other people only dreamed of; discovering things no one even knew to imagine. He wished Jeannie could see it. She had a better appreciation for beauty than he did and despite all its horrors, Pegasus was beautiful. _Atlantis_ was beautiful: all gleaming metal and inelegant code and frustrating language. He still had so much to learn from her; they all did. So many mysteries to uncover. So many truths to lay bare. 

“Was my singing really that terrible?”

He startled at John’s sudden appearance at his side. ‘What? No. I just wanted…” Rodney indicated the view before them. He fell silent at John’s nod of understanding. 

“It really is something, isn’t it?” 

Rodney found himself leaning forward, resting his forearms on the railing to match John’s slouched posture. “That song…” he began, not sure where the need to speak came from. 

He could just make out the half-smile in John’s profile. “Old Beatles tune. It was originally on the album _No One's Gonna Change Our World_ , but everyone else knows it from _Let it Be_.” Comfortable silence passed between them, then John added, “It seemed appropriate.” 

Rodney leaned more heavily on the railing, looking down at the base of their floating city. “Yeah,” he agreed softly.


End file.
